Page 2 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)
Jane’s Remorse
At the base of Oakham Mount, Elizabeth dismounted and led her horse around several boulders. No matter how many times they passed this way, Tuck still refused to navigate the narrow path on his own, so thoroughly did the boulders appear fused as one. Reaching the tallest, which stood nearly touching the base of the mount, Elizabeth swept aside a screen of vines and led Tuck through. She picked up the single shielded lantern left at the mouth of the tunnel, unsurprised that Jane had already returned. The vines once again a wall behind her, Elizabeth unshielded the light and led Tuck down the tunnel.
They came out into a large cavern that hollowed out the hillside. Around them were arrayed familiar racks of weapons, some elegant and sharpened, and others dulled for practice, as well as hooks adorned with padded coats, vests, and other vestments to be worn while training. Leaving Tuck in the middle of the domed chamber, Elizabeth went first to the cabinet that the rack of padded armor hid, unloading and cleaning her pistols before secreting them away alongside their other firearms. She crossed to another rack to stow her rapier and various daggers, then returned to a slightly impatient Tuck.
Taking back up his reins, Elizabeth led her horse through a hidden door at the back of her late stepfather’s stable, the structure being built half into the line of hills that ranged from her former home of Longbourn, past their estate just outside the village of Meryton, and onward to Netherfield Park. Jane was in the center of the stable brushing down her horse, Robin, and Elizabeth led Tuck over. Robin nickered softly in greeting and Jane spared Elizabeth and Tuck a smile.
Grabbing up a cloth, Elizabeth quickly wiped the chalk dust from Tuck’s nose, smeared there so that any who saw him would recall a white blaze and so, even if they had occasion to enter the stable, would never associate her bay with Azile’s mount. Then Elizabeth left him to duck into the tack room and change, bundling away her highwayman’s garb and their loot into more of their stepfather’s secret compartments. The hill side of the stable, appearing to be a wall of stacked stone, was riddled with concealed cubbies. Having served as a spy for the Crown for many years, Papa Arthur had a deep love for secret passageways, hidey-holes, and hidden talents. With his passion for intrigue and secrets, Elizabeth sometimes wondered if they had found all the passageways and compartments he’d hidden in their home. With Papa Arthur gone these seven years past, they might never know.
“Your face,” Jane warned when Elizabeth came back out.
“Worry not. I realize I appear as if I have been eating mud cakes.” Elizabeth took up the cloth she’d used to dust the chalk from Tuck’s face and applied it, along with a bit of water, to her own. When she was done, she turned to Jane. “How is this?”
Before Jane could answer, the stable door cracked open. Elizabeth tamped down a shock of worry even as she saw it was only their sister Mary, which was as it should be. They’d long ago talked Mama into only hiring a temporary man for the stable, not a difficult task given her dislike of horses. Mr. Clarke came over from one of the tenant farms each morning and, more briefly, evening, to care for their mounts, and could be paid extra for the use of himself and his team when they required a coachman, but he didn’t stay on. That way Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary knew precisely when their domain would be invaded.
Mary came to Tuck’s side and began unbuckling his tack while Jane continued to brush Robin. She liked to make his coat shine. Over Tuck’s back, Mary asked, “Was it a profitable outing?”
Elizabeth grinned, taking the heavy saddle from her sister and turning to drape it over the rail of Tuck’s stall. “Very profitable. Either we robbed two men of their life’s savings, or we picked an exceptionally good carriage to hold up.”
“Oh.” Jane’s face pinched with worry, the brush in her hand stilling. “You do not believe we took their life’s savings, do you?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Most certainly not. Did you see the arrogance of the one whose hat you shot? Such condescension can only come from excessive wealth.”
“I hope you are correct.” Jane resumed brushing. “If I discovered we took all someone has, I would insist we return it.”
“Not the church’s portion,” Mary said crisply. “I intend for the vicar to receive a large donation on Sunday and, Elizabeth, you know better than to stop and count money. You are to return directly here after a robbery. We agreed on that.”
“I did not stop and count the money. Their purses are so fat, though, that I know they must contain a considerable sum. You will not even be able to give the church its portion all at once. It will not fit in the box.”
“It cannot be that much,” Mary said and traded a brush for Tuck’s bridle. “I will count it later and make up a bundle for the church and the ones for us to distribute.”
Jane smiled at that, for she loved the days when the three of them would sneak about Meryton, Longbourn, and the surrounding countryside and leave small parcels of money for the needy to find. Tucked into the pocket of an apron left out to dry on the line, or slipped under a pie cooling in a window. Or, Elizabeth’s personal favorite, wrapped in paper and left under a brooding hen.
“I see the new paste I developed worked well,” Mary said to Jane. “Unless, that is, your mustache fell off?”
“It remained firmly in place, and yet this new concoction did not adhere so firmly that I needed to scrub off half my skin to remove it.”
They had, about a year ago, had an alarming incident where one of Mary’s attempts at glue had worked so well that they’d encountered a great deal of difficulty removing Enaj’s mustache from Jane. Then, by the time they got it off, she had an incriminating pink line across her upper lip, the skin quite irritated. Fortunately, they had managed to bundle her into the house and apply a soothing ointment without anyone seeing her. By the following day, she’d appeared nearly normal. At least normal enough that a bit of powder could hide the mark until it completely healed.
“Maybe Azile should grow a mustache,” Elizabeth mused.
“And leave ladies all over Meryton scrambling to pencil mustaches onto the posters they hide in their chambers?” Jane asked with a laugh. Then her expression became solemn and she turned to set Robin’s brush down.
Elizabeth grimaced, knowing what was coming next. Jane was always filled with remorse after they robbed someone.
“Do you… Are you both still certain that what we are doing is right?” Jane asked. “When Papa Arthur taught us to fight and ride and shoot, it was to keep us active and so we might defend ourselves. I do not believe this sort of behavior is what he had in mind.”
“I believe this is precisely what he had in mind,” Elizabeth said firmly, as she always did when Jane got this way.
Their mother’s second husband, retired General Arthur Oakwood, had adored teaching them such fine arts as swordsmanship and pugilism. He often said he wouldn’t always be here to care for his Bennet Gang, as he liked to call the five of them, but that he would teach them to care for themselves. He hadn’t been able to interest Kitty in learning anything, even the French he’d taught Jane, Elizabeth and Mary, and begun to teach Lydia, Thomas, and Matthew. Nor had Papa Arthur had time to teach Elizabeth’s youngest three siblings anything more, or to buy Lydia a horse, having died when she was but eight. Still, he’d instructed Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary well. More than that, after he left them, they kept up their training in secret. Especially Elizabeth and Jane, who showed more aptitude for all things martial than Mary.
“And the two gentlemen we robbed this evening were entirely unknown to me,” Jane continued, ignoring Elizabeth’s words. “They are not part of the troubles hereabouts. We had no right to take their money.”
Elizabeth snorted. “They are wealthy gentlemen. I am certain they are part of someone’s troubles.”
“We do not know that,” Jane said firmly. “Not all gentlemen are like those in this area. They simply cannot be. Papa was not,” she added, to stave off Elizabeth’s rebuttal.
“So you say.” Mary gave a little sigh where she stood on the other side of Tuck from Elizabeth, brushing him as he munched on hay. “I hardly remember Papa Thomas.”
Their father, Thomas Bennet, had died before Lydia was even born, plunging them into mourning. When she’d arrived a girl, their hideous relations, Mr. Collins Sr. and his sons, had inherited their home, Longbourn, which was entailed away from female offspring. The Collins had moved in with alacrity, unceremoniously kicking out the grieving new mother and her five daughters. If not for their relations on their mother’s side, Elizabeth had no notion what would have become of them in the year before their mother met General Arthur Oakwood. The Phillips kindly putting a roof over them, and Mr. Gardiner giving some of his then meager funds to help feed them, were all that had saved them after Mr. Collins Sr. took possession of Longbourn.
A sycophantic, conniving man, Mr. Collins Sr. had rapidly risen in the eyes of the local populace. In little time, he’d been named as the local magistrate, a position his son now held. Until his death, Mr. Collins Sr. had worked diligently at squeezing every penny from his tenants, and had convinced the other men of the region to do likewise. He’d lobbied for, and seen, many local statutes changed, and local taxes raised, and one of his associates placed in the role of tax collector. Not that the money went to anything but lining the pockets of the greedy and overprivileged. Now, it was nearly impossible for good, honest people to survive in and around Meryton, but likewise few had the means to leave.
And Elizabeth simply would not stand for it.
Nor, sadly, could she do anything to change it. As women, she, Jane, and Mary had little say in their local governance. Even their mother, a longstanding matron of the community, wielded no power when it came to laws, fines, and taxes.
“This is the part where you tell me that Papa Thomas was a good man who loved us, cared for us, and would be every bit as proud of what we are doing as Papa Arthur would be,” Mary urged, drawing Elizabeth from her churning thoughts.
“Mr. Bennet was a good man,” Jane said quietly.
“But he would be more amused than proud,” Elizabeth added with a sad smile. Even though she’d been only five when their father died, she clearly remembered his wry humor.
“Jane. Elizabeth. Mary,” their sister Lydia’s voice called from outside the stable. “Are you in there?”
Elizabeth cast a quick look around, but nothing that would indicate their true purpose in the stable met her searching gaze. Calmly setting down her brush, Jane led Robin to his stall. Mary resumed grooming Tuck, and Elizabeth went to the wall by the stable door, where their gardening implements were hung. She snatched down a trowel and a small rake.
Lydia pushed the stable door open. Her gaze settled on Elizabeth, who immediately set to returning the trowel and rake to their places, as if stowing gardening tools had been her occupation for some time.
“There you are.” Lydia smiled, coming farther into the stable.
To Elizabeth’s dismay, Kitty followed.
Her nose scrunching, Kitty yanked out a handkerchief to press to her face. “How can you stand the smell in here?”
“Smell?” Jane asked mildly, turning from securing Robin.
“It smells like hay and horses,” Elizabeth added.
“Precisely.” Kitty gave a condescending sniff, then started sneezing. “Ugh. I will go tell Mama we found them.” Pivoting, she left.
Lydia looked at the three of them eagerly. “When you weren’t in your garden, I said to look here. I thought you’d be finishing up.” She smiled at Elizabeth before turning to Mary. “But why are you brushing Tuck and not Mare Marian?”
“We already brushed Mary’s mare,” Elizabeth said easily. Not a complete lie, as they had brushed Mary’s white mare many times in the past.
“And I think Tuck is done now, as well.” Mary set her brush aside and led Tuck away.
“I have an apple for Mare Marian.” Lydia pulled a rather small, pathetic apple from her skirt pocket. “Can I give it to her?”
From where she was stabling Tuck, Mary nodded, casting her horse a fond smile.
Lydia skipped across the stable and held out the apple to the eager mare. “You know, I could help brush her.”
“I do not require help,” Mary said instantly.
Lydia sighed and patted the mare’s nose as she ate the apple.
Elizabeth wished their youngest sister could help them, but Lydia was too flighty to be trusted with their secret. Still, she clearly pined for friendship, and Elizabeth felt sorrow at excluding her. Lydia did not even have a horse, for their mother wouldn’t buy her one or pay for her to learn to ride. Papa Arthur had been the impetus behind such things. He would surely have bought Lydia a mount for her tenth birthday, as he had for Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary, though Kitty had refused the gift of one.
Papa Arthur had been certain he could wear her down and start training her in riding and other, more martial pursuits, as he had the three of them, but he hadn’t lived long enough to try. It was shortly after Kitty’s tenth birthday that the incident had taken place. Papa Arthur had been robbed not only of convincing Kitty to learn to ride and of one day buying Lydia a mount, but of watching the two sons the now Mrs. Oakwood had given him grow up.
“Why have you come looking for us?” Jane asked, joining Lydia in lavishing attention on Mare Marian, who did not get ridden very often as Mary preferred to be in charge of the ledger, distribution, and false mustache making side of their venture. Not to go gallivanting about, as she called what Elizabeth and Jane did.
“Mama has a note from Mr. Lucas at the shop,” Lydia said. “He has more of her favorite bonbons in. She wants to speak with you about going into the village tomorrow.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Mary, wondering if her sister could have any bundles ready for distribution by the time they went on their mother’s upcoming bonbons mission. Mary returned the slightest nod.
“We had best go in, then,” Jane said. “Mama will not be satisfied until she has repeated the story.”
Elizabeth grimaced but nodded, knowing Jane was correct .
To the tune of Lydia prattling on about the bonbons story their mother would undoubtedly tell, they finished with the horses and closed up the stable, then all set out for the house.
“We looked for you in your garden first,” Lydia said as they walked up the path. “It is looking lovely. I could help in there, you know. I want to learn to arrange flowers.”
“There will be no new flowers until spring,” Mary said.
“I could cut ivy and maybe dry flowers.”
“We are cultivating the ivy.”
Elizabeth squelched down guilt at how Lydia’s face fell. She truly felt sorry for her youngest sister. Spurned by their mother for being born female, Lydia lived in Kitty’s shadow. Mama doted on Kitty, unquestionably her favorite. It worked well for Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary, who’d nurtured a reputation for spending hours in the walled garden Papa Arthur had built on the estate. A garden that had one gate facing the house and a second facing the stable.
But Lydia had no one. Kitty looked down on her. Their mama disdained her. For their part, though they were sympathetic, Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary couldn’t have Lydia around. Not if they wanted time to practice their unladylike arts of combat, and to be able to sneak away and back at will.
Not that they snuck away often. Much of the time, aside from when they practiced, they truly were working in the garden or riding for pleasure. They’d long ago agreed not to rob people too often. They didn’t need to stir Mr. Collins into taking serious steps to capture them.
Not that he would ever find them out, but he could make their work more difficult.
When they reached the house, they went to wash up, knowing their mother felt the same way about the smell of horses as Kitty, for where else had Kitty learned such airs? Lydia followed Elizabeth to her room, chatting away as she washed in a basin and fixed her hair. By the time she and her youngest sister entered Mrs. Oakwood’s favorite drawing room, Elizabeth had already endured several more reiterations of Lydia’s thoughts on the bonbons story, as well as her younger sister’s conviction that their young brothers, Thomas and Matthew, were also tired of hearing it.
They entered to the sight of Jane standing before their mother’s favorite sofa, nodding along, with Mary, Kitty, Thomas, and Matthew seated about the room. Elizabeth despised how Jane always stood before their mama like an errant schoolgirl, enduring Mrs. Oakwood’s rants. Not because their mother was in any way cruel to Jane, but because Jane’s subservience reminded Elizabeth that her older sister still felt responsible for their stepfather’s death.
“…know that Mr. Lucas, bless the man, gets them in especially for me,” Mrs. Oakwood was saying. “He always has. As well he should, as it is a wonder I can eat confections at all.” She heaved a great sigh.
Elizabeth settled onto the sofa behind Jane, the cushions stiff and the feet carved into lions’ paws grasping rounded ornaments. Lydia dropped down beside her.
“Why is it a wonder, Mama?” Kitty asked dutifully where she sat beside their mother, the question issued as much to please Mrs. Oakwood as to torment the rest of them, Elizabeth imagined.
Where their brothers sat together at a small table, cards before them, Thomas scrunched his nose.
Knowing Mrs. Oakwood couldn’t see them with Jane standing before her, Elizabeth and Lydia mouthed along with their mother’s words as she answered Kitty with, “It was a lovely winter’s day, sunny and bright. Oh, but for the sunshine to bring such sorrow on that fateful day.”
She paused for a fluttering of her handkerchief, mimicked by Kitty where she shared their mother’s sofa.
“I told your father, girls, my poor sweet Thomas, after whom you are named, Thomas, that I was with child and certain, so certain, that this time I would bear a boy.”
She paused again. Fortunately, Jane still stood before Elizabeth and Lydia, preventing their mother’s usual accusatory glare from landing. Even so, where she sat beside Elizabeth, Lydia dropped her gaze to study her hands, amusement leaving her face.
“My dear sweet Thomas was filled with such elation, he ordered his mount saddled and rode with all haste for Meryton, to purchase for me my favorite confections. And that was the last I ever saw of him.”
The sob Mrs. Oakwood issued then had lost all ability to evoke sorrow in Elizabeth, the performance being too oft repeated. She nudged Lydia with her elbow, giving her youngest sister a little smile when Lydia darted a look at her.
“After they found him, his neck broken and his horse run off, I could not eat sweets again,” Mrs. Oakwood wailed. “Not for the remainder of my pregnancy. Not for my year of mourning.”
‘But then,’ Elizabeth mouthed along with her mother.
“But then, General Arthur Oakwood rode into Meryton, and my Kitty, whom you were meant to be watching, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Oakwood leaned to the side to cast a scowl around Jane, at Elizabeth. “My Kitty ran into the roadway and General Oakwood, darling man that he was, was thrown as he avoided trampling her, and I nearly lost another great man to horses.”
“But you did not, Mama,” Kitty put in eagerly.
“I did not. Instead, I assisted General Oakwood into the Phillips’ parlor and set to nursing him back to health, and once he was well, he did not continue on his journey north, but instead asked for my hand and here he remained, and purchased this land and built this lovely estate, and lived as my dear husband until his d-death.” Their mother burst into loud sobs.
“And the bonbons,” Kitty urged, as unmoved by their mother’s dramatic weeping as Elizabeth.
“Yes, the bonbons.” Mrs. Oakwood sniffed loudly. “When he was well enough to walk again, General Oakwood daily fetched me bonbons from Mr. Lucas’s shop. He taught me to love sweets again, the sweet, sweet man.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, Mama, but how many do you mean for me to purchase and is there anything else you want from the shops tomorrow?”
Elizabeth couldn’t see their mother, who’d left off leaning sideways to glare at her, only Jane’s back, but she didn’t mind. Her attention wandered as plans were made for the excursion into Meryton, as if they did not walk there several times a week, Mama and Kitty discussing who would go and how much would be spent, and on what. Elizabeth didn’t attend to them. While Mrs. Oakwood’s theatrics didn’t touch her, for some reason Elizabeth still felt more sorrow than usual at her mother’s oft-repeated tale.
She couldn’t help but wonder what their life would be like if Papa Arthur hadn’t dueled, and slain, Mr. Collins Sr., and subsequently died of the wound he’d sustained in the bout. If not for that fatal shot, he could be with them still, buying their mother bonbons and living in the lovely home he’d caused to be built, tending the walled garden with them and teaching Lydia to fence, shoot, speak French, and ride.
Or if Mr. Bennet had not died. If he had fathered Thomas and Matthew, and they’d been permitted to remain in Longbourn. Why, then she would not even know how to fight, or to speak French nearly like a native, or shoot a pistol. Then, she would be like any other young lady, and would meet a man like the one they’d held up today, Mr. Darcy his companion had called him, and marry him rather than rob him.
Smiling, Elizabeth shook her head, unable to imagine such a life. She loved to fence and to ride, and even though he was undeniably handsome, she would never marry a snobbish gentleman like Mr. Darcy. A gentleman, she recalled with a grin, who now had some well-deserved holes in his hat.